


Foxes Are Solitary Animals

by tealvenetianmask



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Flirting, Ghosts, Light Angst, Rare Pairings, tw for sexual harassment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealvenetianmask/pseuds/tealvenetianmask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's nearly out of time, and he's stolen an item which might give her all the time she could ever want.  Each has all the reason in the world not to trust the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foxes Are Solitary Animals

"I know exactly who you are," she typed, from a nearly empty cafe in central London, "James Moriarty, little Jimmy from Dublin. You turned twenty-seven in March. You’re allergic to strawberries. Do you still go by Jim, among friends?" Send. Bela pressed hard on the key, deliberately.

She waited for a few moments, and frowned down at her phone. Taking a jibe at the childhood of one of the most powerful criminal in London would be unthinkable for most. But she barely felt any butterflies. Anger was the more prominent emotion, but it was calm and sharp in her throat, dangerous. And she would need it, because her life depended on it this time. 

Moriarty had organized the theft of the diamond, which had been on display at a prominent museum in the center of town. She’d ordered it for herself, even though she usually procured such precious items with supernatural properties in order to sell them to wealthy buyers. This one was different. It was the final ingredient for the spell that could locate a demon, any demon, and would with any luck find hers, the one who’d sealed the deal eight years ago that left her with only two more years to live now. She often stole items herself, but the diamond’s location required a complex operation, with inside connections. So she’d hired a consultant. 

Bela had received regular updates from Moriarty throughout the theft. The entire heist had gone smoothly, until the slimy bastard had the diamond in his own possession. And then he upped the price. 

Her voice of reason, a good one, that had made her quite successful in the first place, said to just pay the extra twenty thousand. She had it at the ready, with plenty more to spare. But she was also proud, and no one, no one at all would have the privilege of taking advantage of her. She’d sworn it years ago, after her father was buried in the ground, after the fucking demon skipped town and the reality of having only ten years left to live sank in: no one, ever again. She took the advantage herself after that, stole it from those who didn’t have the gall or the brains to defend theirs. 

Eventually, she thought again and again as she built up her wealth, and a reputation as a purveyor of the impossible to boot, even Hell wouldn’t stand a chance. She repeated it like a mantra, when a gun was pointed at her head, and again during that night she spent in a tent in the Sahara, when the wind was loud and she couldn’t sleep.

Despite her determination not to be used, she knew that by defending her claim on this deal she was pushing her luck. She needed that diamond. Two years left to live felt much, much shorter than three years had, and twenty-two no longer felt any kind of old at all. She still checked her reflection on shiny surfaces and saw a wide-eyed girl. 

Her phone buzzed dully against the table. She wasted no time opening the message and reading. "You’re assuming I’m not having you watched. I wouldn’t push my luck, if I were you."

Her eyebrows creased as she considered. Intimidation. She wouldn’t have it. She typed quickly. "I have your poor old mum on speed dial, Jimmy. Scotland Yard too, and I have enough information on you to do some damage. Do you really think your men can get to me first?"

Before her thumb even lifted from pressing “send,” the firm, deep voice came from behind her. “Don’t move. Not an inch if you want to keep breathing.”

She turned her head slowly. The speaker towered over her where she sat, but she recognized him as the man who’d been quietly reading a newspaper in the back on the cafe. 

“No one leaves!” the man said firmly, sweeping his handgun around in a steady circle, a gesture to the few occupants of the cafe, “no one reaches for their cell phones. The cameras in here have been rewired to show everything you do to my employer, so it’s really in your best interest to do as I say.”

The balding man working behind the counter slowly lifted his hands and placed them behind his head. The boy who worked the cash register followed suit, breathing rapidly, choking sobs escaping his throat.

“Now now,” the man with the gun crooned, “you’ll all get out of here fine if you stay on my good side.”

Bela shifted in her seat, and scraped her heal against the floor, enough to regain the man’s attention. She raised one eyebrow.

“Not you, Ma’am. You have a meeting with someone very important. A privilege really. Not many get to meet with him face to face.”

Bela rolled her eyes. “With a build-up like that, he’d better be able to perform.” She flashed the lackey a smile and shook her head just a bit to let her ringlets catch the light. 

As expected, the man looked down, and then just past her, avoiding her eyes. She was armed too, a gun hidden in her jacket’s inside pocket, but this way of asserting power was much subtler, and kept her fairly inconspicuous still, in the eyes of the witnesses. Still the victim. She heard the man’s cell phone buzz. 

He didn’t even bother to check it, and instead placed his hand, heavy and forceful, on Bela’s shoulder. “Come with me. He suggested that you might try to run off. So know. If you escape, we’ll find you again.”

Bela looked straight ahead as she walked out the of the cafe ahead of her captor. With the right timing she could most likely take him out. Elbow to the stomach and then swing for the head. But she’d be closer to the diamond face to face with Moriarty.

The hit man stopped her after they turned the corner. “I’m not escorting you. Get on the tube. Get off at Hyde Park corner, and don’t take detours. Let him find you.”

She signed, and placed her hand at the hitman’s wrist, to stop him before he turned away. “Tell me, before we part. Have you ever met the man himself?”

His eyes widened. Whatever question he’d expected, it hadn’t been that. “No. Doesn’t matter. The job pays well.”

Bela smiled broadly. “It seems I’m a very lucky girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She almost expected to be seized again the moment she stepped off the train at Hyde Park Corner. Her eyes darted ahead and back behind as she rode the escalator up, past the same old posters of new West End shows that she’d never heard of before. If she ever had time, she thought, she wouldn’t at all mind keeping up with theater. Not if. She would someday. 

She didn’t see him right away when she stepped out. Tourists with cameras, people business people en route to appointments, still wearing jackets in the crisp early spring.

She recognized his face finally in the shadow of the arch, leaning against it, his hair slicked back, and eyes alert and already on her. Dressed in the a well pressed suit. She’d quite enjoy the effect, she thought, if more important matters weren’t at hand. She approached him with firm, certain steps. 

“Good morning, Abigail,” Moriarty said, straightening his back and stepping toward her. There was something predatory in his gaze as he drawled it out, her real name, the full version that only her father used to call her by. To hear it sent chills down her spine. How much did he know about her? 

No need to let on. Press on. 

“You dressed up for me, Jim.” She pressed her lips together in a dimpled smile as if on the brink of hysterical laughter at the thought of it. “Tell me, do you wear Dior when you go for walks in the park with all the girls?”

Moriarty didn’t miss a beat. He stepped up right next to her and peered down at her shoes. He lowered his voice to a near whisper, his face too close for comfort. She could smell his cologne. Cloves. “Do you wear those pointy-toed, high healed things because they’re comfortable, or because they make your arse look fantastic? I’m guessing that’s a better business advantage than the handgun you’ve got tucked in your jacket, and you know it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ah, confirmed then that you like wearing suits because of what they do for your arse. She peered around behind him conspicuously, almost theatrically. “You’ve filled out a little the since pictures I’ve seen from your uni days, but not bad.”

Moriarty blinked and squinted for a moment, looking at her, as if something about the comment irked him, ever so slightly. It sent a rush through her stomach. But the look was gone before she could check again, replaced by something gentler, if a bit leering.

Moriarty extended his arm. “Walk with me, Bela.”

She stepped by his side and linked her arm through his without any hesitation. She stood still. “No one actually does this.”

“Walk with me, or I’ll have you killed.” Moriarty smiled brightly and stepped forward, leading her. 

Bela him in the eyes and huffed a bit, as if at a great inconvenience, and then began to walk, her arm resting lightly on his, gaze fixed straight ahead. The two of them would have made excellent aristocrats in another era. The fleeting thought made her almost smile. She recognized him. He was crass, and elegant and cruel, with a warm twinge at his lips, and eyes that were cold as ice. She wondered what had hurt him to make him like that. She swallowed. She couldn’t afford to think like that. 

Moriarty spoke, suddenly but slowly, as they turned a corner in the path and the pond came into sight beyond the slope of the hill. “You’re not only after the diamond for money, are you? Your life depends on it.”

She wheeled her head around to look at him. “I don’t see why the circumstances of why I need it are of any concern to you.” 

He pulled her arm closer to him with his elbow. “Someone’s after you. Otherwise you would just deny it. You’ve gotten yourself into some trouble, and they’ve demanded the diamond for your life.”

“Close enough.”

Bela pulled her arm out of Moriarty’s grasp. In truth, the amount of money that she would be willing to shell out for that diamond, and people she’d rob, maim, or even kill for it was nearly limitless. She didn’t want to die, and he knew. Moriarty’s eyes were wide, intelligent, looming, nearly golden in the bright sunlight. Bela braced herself for the worst.

Moriarty’s lips tugged upward into a crooked smile. “There’s a favor I’d like you to do for me.”

She raised one eyebrow. Her heartbeat sped. If it’s a blowjob you can forget it. People have asked, and it’s always been no. No one. “I won’t do a thing that I don’t want to,” she said firmly.

“I thought you might even enjoy what I have in mind.” His voice went a bit raspy, full of suggestion.

“You’re disgusting.”

His smile widened. He seemed to be delighting in her obvious discomfort. Bela hated that. “I have a certain client, an old woman, bloody rich, who’s been giving me fascinating cases for years. She’s a collector, with a taste for rare and nearly unobtainable items, well protected ones, challenging to procure. She’s so appreciative. An absolute doll.”

“This is the strangest way I’ve ever heard anyone ask for a sexual favor.”

Moriarty laughed lightly. It sounded gentle, not at all an unpleasant laugh. “Recently, the poor old dear has gone a bit senile. She claims that her dead husband has been appearing to her, and threatening to kill her if she continues her thievery. Now— I was planning on letting this slide. But then I became aware that I have someone in my life and in London at the moment who specializes in these sorts of things. In clients who believe in the supernatural. And then I thought, what if the ghost himself tells his wife that he wants her to continue her collecting and would never hurt her? That just might rework her psychology around the whole matter— maybe even change the delusions themselves, if she really believes it. Is it true you perform séances, Bela?”

She crossed her arms. “And the twenty thousand extra for the diamond?”

“Forgotten. I’ll get much more from this client.”

She looked directly into his eyes. His face was impassive, and a bit teasing. “I want the diamond first,” she demanded.

A full smirk then. “Oh, I don’t think it’s smart to give a thief everything she wants before I have everything I want in return. No. Tell me what you’ll need to make your performance convincing, and then we’ll figure out a time frame.”

Moriarty extended his hand. 

We’re going to need to kill the ghost. I need him out of the way before I can tackle the psychological condition. Those were the words she wanted. But how could she explain ghosts, real as day, murderous ghosts, to an expert manipulator of a world governed by logic? She sighed. What did she ever do, if not improvise?

She took his hand and shook firmly. His hand was warm and dry.


End file.
